


chasing that scarlet sun

by peachies



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Can be taken either way, Gen, M/M, have 3k words of tetsu being ryusei red kind of, i mean sorta chiateto but also not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9185216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachies/pseuds/peachies
Summary: because tetora wants to be crimson, should be scarlet, but he's vermilion; inadequate and never enough.in which tetora tries to be good enough to own the title 'Red,' but he's not chiaki, even if he wants to be





	

**Author's Note:**

> (snaps fingers) i have no idea what im doing
> 
> so i've been meaning to write this for forever now, with inspiration stirring from just. thinking about tetora and how kind of insecure he is? in regards to chiaki & kuro, because he tends to draw parallels between those two a lot  
> that being said i meant to write kuro into this but it's already like 3k words ((SWEATS)) sorry beef man
> 
> also i wrote this with platonic chiateto in mind but u can take it romantic i don't really mind either way _(:3/ just stuck that tag on there bc it really just deals with tetora. thinking. a lot 
> 
> ANYHOW!! have 3k words of tetora hating the colour scarlet enjoy

He’s in his third year when Tetora decides that he hates the colour red.

Or no, he’s known it, but admitting it is cowardly, and even thoughts like these he’ll never say out loud, at least.

But he’s biased, even then. He hates red, but crimson is different. It’s passionate, fierce, dominant. It’s close but out of reach. It’s nurturing yet meticulous, a sharp pain with a comforting sting. Tetora likes crimson. It’s comfort; home. He clings to it even when it’s gone, because it left him long ago but he still tries, even if fruitless. He even _knows_ it is, too – he’s not crimson, it’s too out far. But he tries, tries to be, random tips of his ebony hair sprayed with the colour, because it’s what he _wants_ to be.

It’s scarlet Tetora hates. Scarlet is bright, blinding, warm yet hot to the touch. It burns, an eternal burn that he thinks never goes out. Scarlet’s mysterious; unknowing and distant, yet too close, to intimate, too— _there_. Scarlet is a colour Tetora never understands, a puzzle that he deems unsolvable. Scarlet is simply too much. Too happy, too bright, too hot, too _much_. And Tetora hates it for that, and he hates that he hates it.

Tetora wants to be crimson, he should be scarlet, and yet he’s vermilion.

And he hates vermilion the most. Vermilion is ugly; a failed mix of yellow and red that isn’t quite orange, but far from pure red. Vermilion is stuck, with no clear identity, an in between that doesn’t know what it wants to be. Should it be yellow, red, or orange—even vermilion itself doesn’t know. It exists, and it’s existence is wasteful; it exists but it doesn’t, with a name but not a face.

Tetora is vermilion. He chases after split paths, after a sun that’s been gone for years.

* * *

 

“I think it suits you.”

Tetora flinches, but it’s expected. “I, uh, don’t really think so, but thanks.”

He fidgets, his fingers clasping over the dangling cuffs of the jacket. It’s uncomfortable and too big, too daunting; it’s now he realizes how broad Chiaki was, and how small Tetora is in comparison, how unfitting the jacket is for him. He stares in the mirror, tugging and pulling at the scarlet coat in desperate hope that maybe, maybe with enough effort he can make it work. It doesn’t.

Midori doesn’t look at him, but sees him through the mirror. “Well, it suits you better than it would us.”

Tetora scoffs at that. It’s obvious, but it still doesn’t help. Maybe it even worsens it. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s okay!” Shinobu tries, keeps his voice uplifting but they both can hear a crack of nervousness that never seems to leave his voice, even now. “You will grow into it! Tai—erm, _Chiaki_ was older, of course, you still have time to grow!”

Tetora makes a face at the bluntness of the name, because even still it doesn’t sound right. He doesn’t recognize Chiaki as _Chiaki_ , and that distinction might be what he needs but it’s not something he can accept yet. Maybe he’s just pathetic.

Still, he tries for Shinobu, the small thing he is, and forces his lips up, because that’s all they can do right now is hope and head forward. “Yeah, you’re right.”

* * *

Second year was terrible, terrifying, rapid and chaotic, a whirlwind where Tetora never really steadied his footing, a place where he was always falling, but never landed.

Because second year slipped through their fingers, a failure Tetora could’ve prevented if he was enough. But he’s not – he’s scarlet, a dirty colour of confusion – and he almost let Ryuseitai fail, crumble, dissipate.

There wasn’t enough, _he_ wasn’t enough; recruitment was bad, only for them, it seemed. And he let it happen, his footing never stable and he just didn’t know what to _do_. They could do Lives as three, a brief thanking to the Heavens that units only had to be two or more, but the power that their seniors left behind showed. In Tetora, especially; it was too much, all too much, and one day he just _stopped_.

Stopped, and Midori and Shinobu stopped with them, and the lights and the music still flared but it wasn’t even visible or audible because Tetora’s mind stopped too. And even though they tried to comfort him after, gentle reminders of _it’s okay, it happens, we’ll do better next time_ , it didn’t reach him.

Because red is the colour of a hero, and Tetora couldn’t save them.

He broke later, crumbling in his bed and hasty fingers dialing a number he swore he wouldn’t dial again because it would admit defeat. And he sobbed, his voice coming out and making sounds that weren’t words, but he knew Chiaki would understand because he’s _Chiaki_ and he always just _does_.

“Nagumo,” Chiaki finally voiced after Tetora began to breathe again, “no—Tetora. Listen—you’re fine. This happens, you know? It’s scary being a leader all of the sudden. Believe me, I was scared too when I first became _Red_!”

It’s odd, and Tetora feels weird, but Chiaki’s voice was low and quiet, and maybe that’s because it was two in the morning, but it also just felt good, comforting, _not_ burning scarlet.

“Y-You? Scared?” He tried to laugh, a scoff that's interrupted by hiccups, “I can’t believe that.”

“It’s true! It was during my second year, too, actually. I was suddenly given leadership after our previous one, uh, dropped out, so I didn’t know what to do!”

Tetora wanted to ask, wanted to know more, but his seniors had always been so mysterious about the past, so he stayed quiet. “What’d you do?”

“I cried a lot!” And then he laughed, more of a low chuckle that Tetora isn’t used to. He scrunched his nose anyways. “Ah, but you wanna know after that, huh? But it’s okay to cry, you know. Letting it out is good for you, and that’s what I needed. And after that, you just have to believe in yourself. If you think that you _can_ do it, you will!”

“But I _can’t_ ,” His eyes stung, watered, but nothing fell yet and he thought that was more painful than actually crying itself, “I’m not you. I’ll never be you. That’s why Ryuseitai is failing, that’s why we’re gonna disband, I’m not--”

“Tetora,” Stern, low, but calming, “I’m not asking you to be me. I don’t ever want you to try to be me. I want you to be Tetora—be Ryusei Red, Nagumo Tetora!”

“That’s not enough--”

“That’s _always_ enough.”

He wasn’t satisfied, still a stubborn kid not accepting reality but another wave of anguish and _I’m sorry_ pushes through him and he wept through it all, and he relished in vague comfort that Chiaki offered him.

* * *

Where second year was a test of their vitality, Tetora finds relief in the transition into third year because Ryuseitai is okay again, five members strong and one foot steady down the path of brilliance.

He doesn’t know how they managed to stay afloat, but they do and Tetora’s grateful that Midori and Shinobu stayed by his side the whole way through.

Really, he loves them. It’s mushy to say, even if Shinobu says it all the time (and Shinobu’s developed Chiaki’s habits; clingy and too affectionate, but Midori and Tetora both accept it because it’s _Shinobu_ and it’s _totally different_ ), but he looks at them so fondly, so lovingly because they deserve the world and Tetora feels terrible that he can’t give them that. But they love him anyways, and that’s enough, that’s enough to keep Tetora going even if he still hasn’t grown into that scarlet jacket.

He’s grown – taller than Chiaki now, and probably stronger than him too, but the jacket still feels off. He’s broader than Chiaki, taller than him, larger than him but the scarlet jacket never fits him, never truly suits him even when Midori constantly insists it does. No, because when he looks in the mirror, it’s not his jacket, it’s Chiaki’s – a memento of what he should be, a reflection of what he could be but can’t.

And even now he hates scarlet, hates it so much he changes those crimson tips to scarlet because it’s in third year he decides he’ll never be crimson, but scarlet is closer to vermilion. And he clings onto small hope that he can dissolve in this jacket and become the scarlet he needs to be, but even as graduation falls onto them he doesn’t change, he stays vermilion.

He fists the uniform, tightening his grip and releasing continuously until Midori forces his hands away.

Their two first years are somewhere else backstage, chattering with acquaintances from other units while they await their turn. It’s the three of them, silent and tense with wordless anxieties floating on their tongues.

Last one.

“...So, this is it.”

And he hates how quiet his voice is, how small it’s become and he disregards Midori’s hands and continues to play with the sleeves of his scarlet uniform.

“Yeah,” Midori gives up, resting his hands on Tetora’s knees in a weak attempt to comfort, “I think this is my last stage, probably ever.”

“You’re not gonna continue being an idol after this?”

“Probably not... I don’t think I’m cut out for it...”

“That’s not true!” Shinobu stands in front of them, and Tetora laughs to himself because even after three years Shinobu still looks small and fragile. “You are an amazing idol! Better than I could ever be!”

“Um, I think you’re exaggerating, but thanks,” A small smile, but they know it means more, and Midori shifts over so Shinobu can squish between both of them.

“Yeah, I dunno if I’ll continue, either,” Tetora shrugs a little, stops fidgeting but still grasps it tightly in his hand, “but if I do, I’ll--”

“--If you do, Chiaki will probably want to come onto his TV program, wouldn’t he?”

He shivers. “Okay, nevermind, decided I’m _not_ gonna continue then.”

And at least they laugh then, nerves very present but at least at bay.

They hear a shout, the fluttering of their first years panicking and they shuffle to their feet.

And Tetora mumbles out a rather dull speech, one that lacks confidence and enthusiasm, but the others cheer anyways, and Tetora can’t help but think he’s cheated them all. It’s unfair. And it’s unfair, he thinks, slipping the scarlet jacket on, unfair that he was forced to take up this role because there’s a voice in the very far back in his mind that thinks Chiaki _knew_ that Tetora could never be _Red_ , but still forced the position onto him.

But if that’s pettiness or pessimism, Tetora will never know, because he’s too scared to ask.

* * *

It’s after the performance that Tetora betrays his own consciousness and pushes the scarlet jacket into the hands of an awed yet terrified first year. And he feels guilty because he already knows he’s setting the boy up for failure, because Tetora never was a good _Red_ in the first place, but he has to do it and he regretfully does it. But he gives the poor kid his contact, just in case, just in case he’ll have a meltdown like Tetora did.

(He doesn’t, and Tetora doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.)

There’s cheering and celebrating, noise on top of noise and Tetora can’t think. Still, he amuses himself and yells along with everyone, too, because he feels lighter now that he doesn’t have that scarlet jacket restricting him. And maybe he goes a little overboard and delivers uncharacteristic hugs and maybe he cries a little but it’s a little euphoric at first.

Because it dies down a little, when they retreat back to their dressing room and scrape off the layers of makeup that glue to their face, and suddenly he’s faced with scarlet again and it’s warm and suffocating.

“You guys did so well! I’m so proud of you!”

Chiaki’s voice is always too loud, too enthusiastic and somehow louder than the cheering outside. He enters the room and suddenly Tetora’s burning and sweating.

But he ruffles Midori’s hair, and Shinobu immediately jumps into his arms and nuzzles close, and Tetora concludes he’s the only one who’s on fire. He feels a cool hand through his own hair and he’s thankful Kanata came too, because if Chiaki is the sun then Kanata is the moon, and somehow right now Tetora just wants to be illuminated by moonlight.

And he keeps quiet, mostly, interjections for clarifications as Chiaki and the other two chat, and the first years come in and Tetora mournfully hears Chiaki lecture the poor new _Red_. But in a way he’s thankful for that, because if Tetora himself had to do that, he wouldn’t know what to say. He has no advice, no comforting words because being _Red_ wasn’t easy, and he’s vermilion so he can’t even _be_ red in the first place.

But Kanata stays beside him, keeps that hand in his hair and Tetora bitterly wishes he were _Blue_ instead.

* * *

“You did a really great job, you know.”

It’s spring but the night sky is brisk. And even though Tetora wished for moonlight to shine on him, when it does he can’t see it because the sun’s beside him and it’s too bright, too much.

“Nah, I messed up a lot.”

“But that’s okay! Nobody’s perfect, Tetora!”

He still isn’t accustomed to Chiaki saying his name, but it’s not something he dislikes, at least. But it’s strange, foreign, like everything Chiaki is because he just doesn’t know him. He’s the sun; warm but too far away, too far from Tetora’s reach and even if he knows this, Tetora still tries to reach him.

He leans against the railing, and they stand in silence, the gentle rock of the sea a soft melody to their ears. And even if Tetora feels free from the constraints of that scarlet jacket, he doesn’t feel content. There’s wrongness here, standing next to Chiaki, because even if he’s just a peak taller than him, broader than him and stronger than him, he feels small, weak, and inadequate.

Because Chiaki is too much and Tetora is too little.

“...Um,” he regrets it already, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t be the _Red_ you wanted me to, and--”

“I told you, though, it’s okay! I wanted you to be you, Tetora, and--”

“But that’s not it,” He says it a little too sharp and he fears for a brief moment that he might’ve pricked Chiaki, “I wasn’t enough-- I’m not enough. I tried, y’know? I tried to be enough but it didn’t work.”

“...But Tetora, you _are_ enough. Being yourself is really enough!” And Tetora’s reminded how dense Chiaki can be, and it’s frustrating.

“No, it’s not! Being myself is--” He allows himself to breathe, just for a second, “--isn’t good enough to lead Ryuseitai. You can’t just tell me to be myself, because when I did that, Ryuseitai almost fell apart!”

Chiaki stops, bites his lip and if Tetora weren’t so heated he would’ve taken pride that he finally made him quiet.

“...That’s cruel, y’know? Putting too much hope in me...” Tetora’s quick to cover his eyes, because he’s weak and he knows it’ll show if he lets anything fall. “Even when you knew I couldn’t do it, you made me anyways. That’s cruel.”

“...No, you could do it. I knew you could. And you did, right?” But Chiaki’s voice is quiet again, just like that night, and Tetora feels an arm on his shoulder and a tug. “But I put you through so much to figure that out. I’m sorry. I didn’t prepare you enough, did I? I’m sorry.”

Chiaki tugs a bit harder, and Tetora’s hand falls from his face and he replaces it with Chiaki’s shoulder. “No, you were fine. It was me. You prepared me fine and I still messed up.”

“So is it my fault or is it yours? You’re contradicting yourself there.” Chiaki breathes out a chuckle, but it’s airy and full of regret and Tetora kind of hates himself for pushing blame on him.

“I know! I know. I’m—I don’t know, I’m just tired, and--”

“It’s fine. I get it, Tetora, I understand.” His grip on Tetora tightens, and even if Tetora is burning, it’s comforting. “But you did it, you know? And you did a great job!”

“But Ryuseitai almost--”

“--But it didn’t. You saved it. You saved _them_ , Tetora, and you saved yourself. That’s all I wanted--” And Tetora’s being crushed by Chiaki, but it’s fine, “--for you to make Ryuseitai your own. Be your own Ryusei Red, even if it wasn’t necessarily red.”

He still doesn’t get it, still thinks Chiaki doesn’t get it and has no idea what he’s saying, but there’s something comforting about it all and he sinks more into the awkward embrace and he’s content. It’s warm, too warm, too hot and Tetora’s burning, but it’s a comforting burn that he never knew he missed.

“Thanks,” he doesn’t know why he says it, either, but he says it anyways, gripping tighter and tighter and falls more and more into the sun’s embrace.

And Tetora still doesn’t like scarlet, and it’s still too far away, but he’s stopped reaching for it, stopped chasing it because even if vermilion is a dirty colour, it’s his colour, one that he’s adopted and made his own because it’s his colour and it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 4am
> 
> i read a headcanon? i think? once that talked about ryuseitai doing badly in the kids 2nd year and i really liked that bc i think it would really challenge tetora so im sorry to whoever's hc i took!!! if u see this hmu and ill credit you again i apologize _(:3/ 
> 
> also apologies if this was ooc i am like a baby when it comes to ryuseitai  
> i love them but i watch them from afar bc im scared of their events  
> plus they need more angsty events HE hmu w chiaki's past thanks 
> 
> but !!!!! thank u for reading my mess of words


End file.
